


blinking in the starlight

by MagusLibera



Series: fics I wrote in quarantine as I chilled [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Rapunzel Fusion, Alternate Universe - Tangled (2010) Fusion, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, I will eventually continue this, Inspired by Tangled (2010), Kidnapping, Locked In, Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive, Rapunzel Elements, Trapped with a Stranger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23264509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagusLibera/pseuds/MagusLibera
Summary: Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive.Prompts: Fairy Tale, Strangers Trapped Together, Kidnapping.A Tangled AU with a twist.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Series: fics I wrote in quarantine as I chilled [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672840
Comments: 34
Kudos: 109
Collections: Quarantine and Chill Fic Drive 2020





	blinking in the starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!
> 
> It's been a while, and the world has gone mad, which is part of why it's been a while. My country went into lockdown this week so I'm officially staying inside for the foreseeable future. If anybody is struggling with anything, please don't hesitate to reach out. I'm on Twitter and I'm on here and I'll always be happy to chat with you if you need it.
> 
> On to nicer things, this is my first Q&C fic! I have many of them planned and hope to get through as many of them as possible. For anybody reading Pure of Heart, know that I am still working on that one too but everything has ground to a bit of a halt recently and I've decided to make the fic drive my priority. I'm still hoping to update soon but can't make any promises.
> 
> My intention is to write a bunch of one-shots for the fic drive and leave open the option to return to any of the fics I write to extend them into a multi chapter. This one has a very high chance of becoming a multi chap as I already have a plan for it.
> 
> The title is from I See the Light from Tangled.
> 
> Full disclosure, my intention had been to post yesterday to celebrate the release of Disney+ in my country as the first thing I watched was Tangled. But... then Disney+ came out. And I completely forgot. Anyway, here it is... better late than never.

Many people mistakenly hold the belief that the great kingdom of Corona is an island joined to the mainland only by a single bridge. This misconception is understandable, for the capital of Corona, the land that holds its great castle is indeed an island, but Corona does not end at the bridge. Corona is the island, the coastline that faces the great city, the taverns that line the coastline, the dam that holds back the tide of water that should fill the great gorge, the rivers and lakes and mountains and, most importantly, the forests.

In particular, one vast forest to the north of the mainland. A peaceful place, verdant and serene and still but for the flutter of a bird’s wings, the slow grazing of a deer, the rustle of a hedgehog’s paws on the grass, the babble of a brook, the wind disturbing the leaves of the trees.

And then the forest erupts. Pounding footsteps shake the grass, sending the wildlife fleeing as three figures burst into a clearing. One is significantly smaller than the others, shorter by several inches than the shortest of the other two and far leaner too. He seems to be a child amongst grown men, but a closer examination reveals that he is, in fact a young man himself. He bears a chiselled jaw, and cropped hair mostly covered by a soft red hood. The second man is the largest of the three, he is only an inch or two taller than the final man but the sheer bulk of him makes him seem like a giant compared to the other two. His biceps bulge in a way that is almost obscene, his shoulders are as broad as two of the younger man’s are and the set of his face reveals a distinct maturity possessed by neither of the others.

The third man runs the fastest. He is tall, there is no doubt about that even from his position beside the second man, but he is strong. He is less bulky, but there is a distinct lethalness to the strong set of his muscles, there is a strategic intelligence in the piercing blue eyes that glint as he speeds across the forest at a breakneck pace, his feet light and sure, creating only light thumps to the earth as his companions crash alongside him. He is wearing a cropped green hood, the shade blending in with the forest in a way that must be intentional given the perfect match of the colour to the trees’ leaves and there is a matching bow slung across his back. But the most notable part of his appearance is the way that he possessively grasps at a satchel slung over his shoulders.

It is not a large item, his two, admittedly large, hands could span the front of it, but it is clearly something precious to him. Something that he feels the need to keep a hold of under any circumstances, in spite of the fact that his hands securing it to his body is both redundant because of its strap and must be affecting his balance. But hold on to it he does, still managing to outstrip the others.

Another sound rends through the forest only seconds after the trio makes their dramatic entrance. A thunder of hooves, cracking through the peace as a battalion of horses and men clad in the armour of the great kingdom storm into view. The three notice this, worried looks crossing their faces as they realise that they have been gained on and redouble their efforts, breaths coming out in sharp gasps as they push their bodies to the extreme. They catch a break, coming across a tangle of thickets that no horse could hope to climb through and they slip through deftly, coming out safely on the other side.

The youngest of the three, the boy in red, collapses to the ground with a heave, choking as he desperately tries to catch his breath. The oldest, the large man in grey looks similarly exhausted, not having been built for speed so much as the others, but he manages to stay upright and exchange a knowing glance at the third man, who is breathing heavily but looks somehow energised by the chase.

“Roy, get up.” The archer says, offering a hand to the boy on the ground, “They’ll find a way around. We need to keep going.” The way that he speaks betrays his position as their leader, a certain innate authority emanating from him. The boy, Roy, reluctantly reaches up, his breaths coming a little easier than before, and allows himself to be hauled to his feet.

“Oliver,” the large man addresses their leader, “Do we have a plan here or are we just running like lunatics until we lose them?”

An air of superiority comes across Oliver, his eyes glinting mischievously even as his face grows serious, “The plan is to lose them, Dig, no other plans matter until then” A long suffering sigh escapes Dig as he nods reluctantly, agreeing.

“Oh, no!” Roy suddenly pipes up, having been quiet as his bosses talked, he points towards a tree. All three men take it in for a moment. Three posters are plastered to the tree. All three have a commonality, _WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE_ , but each displays a different image. On one is a bald man closely resembling Dig, the words _The Spartan_ underpinning the image. On the one that Roy is making his way towards, there is a child drawn wearing a red hood, and the words _The Arsenal_ below. The final one is just a hood. A hood pulled low over an indistinct and shadowy face with a quiver sticking out towards the top left corner of the page. It is the hidden face of _The Arrow_.

“This is bad.” Roy says, tearing the three down and handing them out as he looks in horror at his own, “This is very, very bad.” Oliver opens his mouth to comfort his young comrade but is interrupted before he can say anything, “Why do they always draw me as a child?” Roy complains.

Oliver practically growls, shoving his own poster into his satchel, “Shut up, Roy.” This is no time for vanity.

“Well look!” Roy flips the page so that the others can see it, “Yours is great, they really captured your eyes,” he nods towards Dig, “And yours is super intimidating, they still don’t even know what your face looks like! But mine… I just look like a child in a hood! Couldn’t they at least get my jaw right? That would make me look older!”

Oliver and Dig exchange another look and without saying a word, they both turn their backs on Roy and start to jog deeper into the forest. Roy gapes after them, not quite believing that they failed to offer him any sympathy but he gets no chance to continue as the sound of an angry horse neighing echoes from a nearby clifftop. The soldiers found a way around the thicket. All thoughts of the poster fly from Roy’s brain and he sets off after the others, the three of them running for their lives once again.

Quickly, they find themselves trapped by high walls of stone on every side. They are surrounded like sitting ducks, in a position that will leave them open and vulnerable should their pursuers catch up to them. Oliver assesses the situation. It takes him no time to deduce that he could scale the stone but he also knows that neither Roy nor Dig have the climbing skills that he does.

“Dig, you’re going to go first and then pull Roy up. I’ll follow.” He says, and crouches to hoist Roy onto his shoulders, “Roy, use the rock to balance yourself. You just need to stay upright for long enough for Dig to pull himself up.” Roy does not weigh much, and Oliver is able to steadily bear the younger man’s weight but when Dig starts to climb he feels his knees start to buckle. Minutes pass by agonisingly slowly as he waits for Dig to make his way up the two of them, he can feel Roy shaking under the weight of their friend, barely able to keep himself together. And then, finally, the weight is gone. He looks up just in time to see Dig’s boots disappearing over the top of the cliff and after a beat, the older man’s face and hands come back into view, reaching down for Roy’s arms and hoisting the boy up.

It takes Oliver a second to gather himself, his muscles still shaking from the strain of holding up a large boy and a giant for so long, but he soon begins his climb. Pulling his body up is far more difficult than usual, his muscled already being strained from the day’s activities, but he manages to get high enough that Dig can reach over and aid him in the last few metres.

They collapse in a heap, all three groaning as their muscles spasm but there is still no time to rest, as subtle tremors in the ground tell Oliver that they are still being hunted. He hauls himself to his feet, the other two following suit and they wearily begin to run again. It is not long before the cavalry comes racing towards them, arrows flying in every direction. It takes all of Oliver’s focus and considerable skill to avoid taking an arrow to the back, he boosts himself off trees and twists in the air, dodging and zigzagging every which way in order to make himself a harder target. It works, the Coronian cavalry not exactly being known for their archery prowess to begin with, but Oliver knows that the only reason that the horses have not caught up to him, the only reason that he is not currently feeling the hard restraints of iron manacles bolting around his wrists, is because the horses cannot handle the uneven terrain of the forest.

Realising that he is not going to be able to outlast the soldiers, Oliver risks a glance to his right, trying to catch Dig’s eye to form a plan. Dig is not there. Oliver nearly falls as he desperately looks all around him and realises that he has lost both Dig and Roy somewhere along the line. He can only hope that they have just become separated, and that they are running to safety as he draws the fire. He does not want to consider the alternative, he knows exactly what the Coronian law is. He knows that, if his friends are caught, he will lose everything that he has fought to gain over the last few years.

There are four riders still on his tail though, and Oliver also knows that if he does want to see his friends again, he will have to keep himself from their grasp. Reassessing his position, he sees a thick tangle of thorns ahead, blocking the pathway. It is his best shot. As soon as he reaches it, he starts to dexterously wind through it, earning only a few scratches as he does so. The sound of hooves skidding over dirt comes from behind him, and he knows that he is free. He makes it to the other side, joy coursing through him as he thinks of another job well done.

Celebrating is a mistake. A mass of white comes crashing through the trees just to his left. A singular horse and its rider. Oliver takes off in the opposite direction, rushing into the trees with the slightest hope that the horse will be unable to follow, but he does not have to look back to see that he is still being chased. This creature is relentless, so vigorous in its hunt that Oliver is almost convinced that it is the horse itself with a vendetta against him, not the rider. There is little else to do but run.

Until he sees a hanging vine. Thick, strong. Oliver knows that it is his final gambit. He grasps it firmly as he flies into its path, letting his momentum swing him around in a perfect arc, timing the movement so that he brings himself behind the horse. He releases the vine, arm moving up fluidly to wrap around the fletching of an arrow in his quiver. As he pulls the arrow free, he allows his bow to slip down his arm. He hits the ground, dropping into a roll and nocking the arrow all at once before letting it fly. It hits its target, clanging into the strong metal of the soldier’s helmet. Immediately, Oliver sees the soldier slump, knocked unconscious by the blow, and then he slides right off the horse.

Oliver wastes no time, jumping straight onto the slowing horse’s back and urging it forwards. It has the opposite effect, the horse slamming to a stop. It begins to buck, as if knowing that the person on its back is not its regular rider. Oliver is barely able to hold on as he is thrown about by the horse’s forceful movements.

When it happens, it is both sudden and in slow motion. There is no warning before the horse’s leg goes out from under it, it just happens but the falling, the realisation that they are atop a steep hill, that there is no stopping their descent into the valley that lies below, that is one of the slowest moments of Oliver’s life. He thinks that it is the end, that his last memory will be of being crushed by a massive horse, he sees no way out of it. But by some miracle, the force flings him from the horse’s back, sending him down the hill alone and instead of horse, he crashes into water.

Everything becomes blurry as he goes under, the world muting until he regains his awareness and fights his way to the surface. He is exhausted as he pulls himself back onto the bank of the river, barely able to move and all that he wants is to stay there and not get up for a few days, but in his peripheral vision, he catches sight of the horse once again. The thing does not give up, it seems to be looking for him, searching. How does it even know what to look for?

Dragging himself back upright, he allows himself to feel pleased that he is only swaying minimally as he creeps back into the forest. Silently, he makes his way back into the trees, heading deeper into the forest. He hears hooves. That cursed horse is still on his trail. Looking around, he tries to spot where exactly the horse is, his body slumping back onto the ivy covered rock behind him… and back… and back… and back.

He is lying on the floor. The rock was an illusion, just drapes of ivy hanging over an opening. A secret pathway. _An escape route_. There is a moment of debate, as Oliver crouches inside a rock, satchel still clung tightly to his chest, over risking being heard as he continues his escape versus staying silently where he is but risking being found. In the end, the cries of his bones wins out and he stays put.

*************************

Soon enough, the snuffles of that hellhound of a horse fade into the distance and Oliver lets out a deep sigh of relief. He wants nothing more than to stay in the relative comfort of his position behind the ivy, but the knowledge that Dig and Roy are still out there is impossible to ignore so he keeps going.

He follows a short tunnel before he sees it. A tower. It is beautiful, idyllic but lonely too. A singular spire rising from an ethereal clearing, filled with grass and flowers and wildlife, set on the backdrop of a tall waterfall that makes a crystal clear pond, that runs into a shallow brook. It is a paradise, the perfect little hollow. But it is also so isolated, a haunting feeling hanging in the air, darkening the bright surroundings.

Oliver cannot help himself. It feels like there is something calling out to him about that tower. Something within it, even. He barely even feels conscious of his decision to move towards it, he does not notice his hands reaching back to pull two arrows from his quiver, nor does he realise that he has begun to embed the arrow tips into the stone, that he is climbing the tower like a man possessed.

His mind feels completely separate from his body, singularly focused on the window that he can see above him, only wanting to climb through it and find whatever it is that he is looking for. There is no exhaustion in his limbs, no weariness in his body at all as that one goal energises him far more than anything has before. And then he is there. He is at the window, an open window right at the top of the tower, higher from the ground than he thought when he was down there.

Oliver does not hesitate to slip in.

In the second that he does, there is a searing pain and then only darkness,

*************************

Felicity’s heart will not stop pounding. There is somebody in her tower.

_There is somebody in her tower._

This has _never_ happened before. She has never so much as _seen_ somebody who is not her or Mother, let alone been so close, so able to touch, so _intimate_. It is her first man too. She knows of men. She has read about them and discussed their existence with Mother but a part of her has always seen mankind as some sort of legend. Something that can be discussed and dreamt of but that nobody has actually seen. But here he is… _man_.

The man is beautiful, there is no other way to describe him, really. He has a defined jaw covered in a thick stubble that accentuates his natural bone structure, he is slim but built, corded with muscle that belies his strength. In the deep sleep that she has put him under, he looks young and relaxed, a vast difference to the tense, rigid man who had clambered through her window.

She spends longer than she would care to admit simply staring at him. Taking stock of every inch of his delicious looking body before she ever considers what to do next.

Moving his limp form is the first task, a difficult undertaking considering that he is just one huge lump of muscle and that the person she would have gone to for aid in moving him is… him. There is also the question of where to put him. Her first thought is the wardrobe, but it does not take her long to work out that he could barely fit in there if he were awake and clambering in himself, let alone being shoved in whilst unconscious. Casting her gaze around the room, she spots the sturdy chair in the corner of the room, a small pile of her hair draped over it. It is perfect.

*************************

Oliver awakens to an itching sensation. He is seated, in a chair though he has no recollection of finding one or sitting down, and there is a distinct tickle in his wrists and ankles, something agitating the skin there. The world begins to come into focus, the predominant colour flooding his vision is golden, sunshine. But this is not sunshine, sunshine does not wrap uncomfortably around the wrists and itch. He blinks, trying to clear his vision, certain that his eyes must be deceiving him but… no, they are not. He is bound to the chair by long swathes of hair.

The realisation startles him to life, clearing any remaining fogginess from his mind and bringing the world into sharp focus. He is in a room, circular, fairly large, likely the top of the tower he had climbed. There is chaos all around him, everywhere he looks is crammed with all manner of artefacts. Devices that he has never seen in his life, that he could not hope to know the origins of or uses for are scattered across the entire room, some just lying untouched but the others, some of the far more frightening ones, they are moving all on their own. It is like something from the future.

Gears and bolts are scattered around everywhere, on tables, on chairs, all over the floor. Oliver has no idea how anybody could make sense of this cluttered chaos but the system is clearly working for them because their inventions are twisting and turning and gleaming within the mess. A gentle whir is filling the air, something rhythmic and continuous coming from behind Oliver’s head. He cannot see what it is, but the clunking creates an ominous atmosphere. Not knowing the origin of that sound is, what could be moving behind him is terrifying, there could be anything and right now, Oliver is helpless.

After struggling for another moment, trying to prise his hands free from the bindings, he pauses for a moment. This is hair. Long, continuous, thick hair. Healthy hair, too. Oliver realises that this hair is likely still attached to somebody’s head. He begins to trace it, following the trail of tresses from his wrists to what he hopes is their owner.

And there, hidden partially behind a pillar, in the shadow of a tall box whose purpose Oliver could not hazard a guess at, he can see the trail of golden hair rise up, to somebody’s head.

A girl.

Oliver is stunned for a moment. The last thing he would have expected would have been to find a girl living at the top of this tower in the heart of the forest, and yet here he is. And there she is. She is mostly hidden, but Oliver can see how petite she is, how small. “Who are you?” chimes her voice as she notices his unwavering gaze, he can tell that she is shaking but still she asks, “And how did you find this place?” as she speaks, she bravely makes her way out from her hiding spot.

Oliver loses the ability to think.

She is _beautiful_. Her long blonde hair is the least of her virtues, paling in comparison to her full form. She is as tiny as Oliver had thought, so small that he knows he would dwarf her, he could wrap her entire body up in his, but she is also ever so young. She looks fully grown, old enough to be an adult but barely, her face still fresh and innocent. But the most striking thing about her appearance is her eyes. They are sharp azure, shining from her head and mesmerising Oliver in an instant, holding his attention like nothing else ever has in his life. There is a measured calculation within them, an intelligence that cannot be contained and Oliver knows without a doubt that the inventions littering the room are all hers. Her tinkering, her projects, the evidence of a brilliant mind spilling into the corporeal world.

It takes a moment for Oliver to realise that, rather than answering her, he has just stared, open mouthed, at the angelic creature before him and just as he tries to clear his throat and the sudden lump that is obscuring it, he sees her eyes glint. A surge of courage, no doubt fuelled by annoyance at his lack of an answer, seems to overcome her and she storms forwards, coming further into the light and only taking more of the breath from Oliver’s lungs, “I said, how did you find me?” she growls, adorably, like a puppy, “Is this you?” she thrusts a piece of paper into his face. Oliver is briefly thrown by the sudden change in his view and has to focus to take in the image on the paper, far less comely than her lovely face. He doesn’t recognise it at first, but then remembers Roy complaining about their wanted posters – or, more specifically, his wanted poster – and how he had angrily shoved his own into the satchel.

_The satchel._

Oliver tries to keep the panic at bay. If this girl has this poster, she must have the satchel, which means that she has the… _oh_.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” she huffs, “Answer me! Is this you?” she shakes the poster.

Oliver coughs, “Um, yes.” Is all that he is able to get out, struck dumb by the righteous anger glorifying her countenance. Keeping his focus on the location of his satchel rather than on the young woman before him is growing more and more difficult.

“Your name is… _The Arrow_?” she frowns, her brow furrowing in the cutest way. Oliver cannot quite understand how she can go from glorious fury to sweet puzzlement in so brief a timespan but she has and he is captivated.

“Yes.” He answers, wanting to agree with her in every way until he realises what he has just said, “Uh… no! I meant no!”

She looks disdainfully down on him, “Well what is it?”

“Um… my name is Oliver.” He admits, telling her something that only three others know before remembering himself, “Oliver Hood.” Most people just call him Hood or Arrow these days, but the special few like Dig and Roy and Sara and now, apparently, this girl know his true first name.

“Hood like this thing?” she asks, her fingers tracing over his hood, the proximity making him shiver in delight.

“That’s where it’s from, yes.”

She thinks on it for a minute, deep in thought, “But that doesn’t make sense.” She claims, “How could you get a name from an item of clothing you wear?”

“It’s just what everyone calls me.”

“Oh.” She seems to remember that she had been questioning him, “Well, that still doesn’t answer my question. How did you find me? How did you find this place?” from behind her back, she pulls out a frying pan which she proceeds to brandish threateningly at him. Did she knock him unconscious with that thing earlier?

He raises an eyebrow, “Look, I was just making my way through the forest and I happened upon your tower. I don’t know why I climbed up here, I just remember feeling this urge to, and then everything went black.”

“You… you weren’t… looking for me? You didn’t want my hair?”

Oliver splutters, “ _Your hair_? Why would I want your _hair_?” something in her visibly relaxes,

“Look, kid, all I want is my satchel back and then I’ll leave you in peace.” He tells her.

“I’m not a child!” She protests, “I’ll be twenty in four weeks. How old are you?”

Unable to deny her anything, he answers, “I just turned twenty-four.” He shakes his head, “But that’s not the point! Just let me go, and I’ll let you be. Deal?”

“If I free you from my hair, you promise that you won’t try to hurt me? You promise not to try and take my hair?” she looks at him from beneath her eyebrows, big blue eyes filled with fear and trepidation.

What is it with this girl and her hair? “I promise.” He answers.

*************************

After she frees him, he is able to take a better look at his surroundings. The whirring, clunking noise that had been behind him turns out to be another invention, it is spinning around and looks like it has fabric and soapy water within. Is this… some sort of clothes washing machine? He looks at it further, fascinated and reaches out a hand instinctively. A slap stops him from touching.

“Don’t touch it.” The girl orders. “You’ll mess up the balance.”

“You made all of this?” he asks, awed.

“Yes.”

“You’re remarkable.” He cannot stop himself from telling her.

She blushes at his praise, “Thank you for remarking on it.” The blush’s intensity increases tenfold at her own response.

Oliver smiles, “Is this a machine that washes clothes?”

She brightens up, excited by his interest in her work and blushing from his praise, “Yes! I made it a few years ago.”

She launches into a technical explanation of weights and balances and pumps that is completely lost on Oliver but he does not miss how beautiful she is when animated. How her eyes sparkle with excitement. How she flits from thought to thought faster than he can keep up with, her mind running so much faster than her mouth and making everything just spill out. She wastes no time in moving on from the washing machine and beginning to explain other things in the room. Most impressively, her running water system. She is a genius.

*************************

Felicity forgets herself as she loses herself in the world of her inventions, talking the handsome man – Oliver – through each and every one. She has not had anybody to do this with in so long. Mother Gothel lost interest in her creations almost immediately and gets bored and angry now whenever Felicity tries to share so Felicity has stopped doing so. But this man, he has shown _interest_ in her work. He called her _remarkable_.

“I’m sorry. I’m babbling.” She says once she notices just how little he is actually comprehending.

“No. I enjoyed it, truly. She cannot tell if he is being truthful but at least he is polite, “It’s just… I made you a promise and the thing is there are actually people out there who will be looking for me if I don’t get back to them soon.” Oh. He has people. Of course he does, he lives out there. In the real world. Where people can interact and form attachments and have their own people. It was foolish of her to think that he was actually interested in her and not just being nice.

“Of course. I’m sorry. I just… nobody cares about my inventions and you seemed like you’re actually very attractive- I mean interested! Not that you’re not attractive! You are. Very much so… Anyway I got carried away. Of course you don’t want to hear me go on about this stuff, it was silly of me to-”

“Hey. I was really interested, I promise.” He is smiling, almost laughing but Felicity does not feel like he is laughing _at_ her so much as _because_ of her. “Do you have my satchel?”

Felicity feels her heart stop, knowing that she is about to say something that he will not like. Her hands start to wring together, almost without her brain having told them to do so and she finds herself unable to meet his eyes, “Look, Oliver. Here’s the thing.” She gulps, “I do have your satchel.”

“Great. Where is it?” he says easily as he turns over something on her worktop.

“But you can’t leave.”

His head whips around to face her, eyes narrowing as his body freezes, “What do you mean? You can’t hold me captive here.”

Felicity feels her eyes well up, “I’m not! I would never. It’s just… this place… this place is cursed.” She tries to explain, “ _Nobody_ can leave. Not you, not me. We’re both trapped here now. The only person who can leave is-”

“Rapunzel!” a sing song voice comes from outside the window, “Let down your hair!”

Horror fills Felicity’s face, “- _her_.” She whispers, panic overwhelming her. “Quick!” she says, hushed, “You have to hide! You have to hide, she can’t see you.” She starts to push on Oliver’s unmoving figure, his eyes still mistrustful after her announcement, “ _Please_ , Oliver- Mister Hood, _please_.” She is nearly crying, “I know that you don’t know me well and I just dropped some very bad news on you and you don’t trust me but you _have_ to. Just this once, _please_. She _can’t_ see you. She _can’t_.”

He still hesitates, struggling to process all of the information he has received in the last minute, when the voice comes again. “Rapunzel! I’m not getting any younger!”

“Coming, Mother!” Felicity yells, managing to keep the tremble from her voice. She looks up at Oliver, feeling the water filling her eyes, and mouths, _Please_.

He nods and lets her lead him over to her wardrobe, wincing as he just manages to fold himself in there and Felicity leaves him with a breath, _Thank you_.

She runs over to the window, shaking the fear from her, burying it deep and pasting a bright smile on her face as she casts her hair down, readying herself to pull Mother Gothel back up, just as she does every day.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe everyone. Listen to the advice of your governments, listen to the advice of the universities, and above all else: wash your hands.
> 
> I hope you liked it, and you can find me on Twitter [@MagusLibera](https://twitter.com/MagusLibera) if you want to chat.


End file.
